Games Wizards Play
by pixileanin
Summary: A series of one-shots written for a "HP games" themed challenge. I'm excited to have these little guys all in one spot. These are some of the quickest writing I've ever done, where I did not allow my inner critic to double guess anything. Some ideas worked better than others, but the whole exercise was an invaluable experience. Thanks for reading!
1. Friday Nights with Filch

Friday Nights with Filch

Argus Filch, gasped for breath as he chased two boys down a hallway. They'd snuck into his office, the slimy gits, and stolen his confiscated Monster Book of Monsters, the most vicious one of the bunch this year. Argus had hoped against hope in his early career that he could write up that sorry excuse of a teacher, that Hagrid fellow, for some breach of contract, something about being careless with the safety of the students…

That was until Professor McGonagall started encouraging students to Transfigure things into sharp objects, Professor Sprout had them harvesting mandrake roots and Professor Snape charged underaged witches and wizards… underaged, could anyone believe it… with brewing the Drought of Living Death!

This particular book had already taken a chunk out of the Hufflepuff sofas, rampaged through the dormitories of the Gryffindor Tower, leaving strips of burgundy colored bed coverings in its wake, and had finally been cornered in the Defense Against the Dark Arts classroom, between the Boggart cabinet and the chest of Dementors.

Too bad for him there would be no quiet Friday night with a pair of fuzzy socks and his favorite knitting needles in front of the fire. Argus grabbed his net and set off down the corridor after the skittering boys. This thing had to be put down, he decided, once he got his hands on it again. Perhaps that old flask of firewhisky and a sturdy match would do it in.

Sixth year boys ran way too fast.

Argus rounded the corner and hustled up the stairs where he could still hear the boys below and the snarls of the fugitive book. It was starting to wake up now, and it was only a matter of time before it bit off a finger and flapped off to terrorize one of the tapestries. The Dancing Trolls were going to be missing their slippers if he didn't hurry up.

He came to a halt in front of the second floor girls' lavatory, but then hearing the growling mess echo through the stone room in front of him, he burst through, yelling at the indecency of it all.

"Stop! Yer not allowed in here! Bring back that book!"

To his surprise, the sink had been strangely broken apart, and a large passageway sat in a place that he'd tried hard to forget about for many years.

"Blasted kids!" he muttered, and surged through. "Bound to get themselves killed down here."

Giant stone pillars surrounded the large, open-spaced room, lit with torches, and to his surprise, Argus and the two boys he'd followed weren't the only ones down there either.

A whole crowd of robed figures stood in the middle of the Chamber of Secrets, around what looked like a deep pit.

"Did you bring it?" someone yelled out.

"Sure did!" one of the boys called back, and dumped the snarling, snapping beast into the pit.

"Feisty one. Alright then, let's mark it." One of the boys lit his wand and sprayed a green mist down the pit. "That one's green. Everyone place your bets, this is going to be good!"

Argus slowed his limping gait to watch. He was more intrigued by what was going to happen, now that the book wasn't about to escape. There must be at least twenty students down here. He paused, calculating how many square feet of stone floor could get scrubbed during the next detention with that kind of man-power.

Let 'em dig themselves deep, and then he'd come down hard like a hammer.

Calls of sickles and galleons rose in the air, and several of the boys were busy scribbling down figures and names, and then, when the commotion settled down, one of the boys hefted a big bag over the pit.

"This one's been Hogwarts Champion for over three months. Nothing's beaten it yet. Let's see how it does against Greenie. Any last bets? No? Let's DO THIS THING!"

He threw the whole sack down in the pit.

An immediate ruckus came out of that pit. Growls and snarls, snapping and spitting and chomping… parchment bits flew and the whole group was covered in sprays of confetti.

Then, silence.

And a burp.

"Lemme through, lemme through!" Argus pushed his way to the pit and looked down. The green-tinted Monster Book of Monsters had eaten the other book down to the spine.

The group of boys murmured around him. "Hey, Finnegan. Thought you said the green one was yours."

"Err… I sorta nicked it from Filch here," the sheepish boy responded, giving Argus a don't-hurt-me-too-badly smile.

Before Argus could say anything more, the whole crowd went wild.

"That was the fiercest fight I've seen yet!"

"Did you use knives to sharpen its teeth?"

"That thing's so fast, oh my Godric, did you see it devour the other one?"

"Your book rocks!"

Argus Filch didn't give out any detentions that night. Instead, he left with his Monster Book of Monsters in his net, a bag of Galleons, and an appointment for next Friday night.


	2. Wheel of Misfortune

Wheel of Misfortune

Voldemort sat in his inner sanctum, a small, sparse room with drapery-lined walls and a single flaming candle for light. He relaxed in his oversized La-z-wiz chair and propped his feet up. With a flick of his wand, a small, black box came to life, showing him moving pictures, but not the kind that looped endlessly in a short, ten-second cycle. These pictures were alive and projected images from far away places. The show host's face smiled up at him.

"Greetings, my Lord. We are just getting ready to begin, and we are honored by your viewing. In two minutes, the show will begin."

Voldemort stretched, a yawn threatening to stretch his face out. The Death Eater meeting had been so tiring and completely unproductive. It was a good thing he had gotten home in time for his favorite show. Just a few seconds more of the dancing trolls, and then the featured presentation would soon take his worries away.

A short knock on the door jolted him out of his semi-relaxed state. That rat-faced man poked his head in, quivering. "My Lord?"

Voldemort grunted. Wheel of Misfortune was about to begin. He had a bag of crisps in one hand and a cola in the other. He didn't want to be misinformed again.

"Go away!"

The door shut tightly, and his shoulders slouched into the cushions. The game show had been specifically designed for him. He paid homage to it. It was his escape, his refuge. When his master plan succeeded, it would be his religion…

"My Lord?"

"What IS it?"

He scowled at the door. A henchman, Trevors… Traversty… he couldn't recall the name that belonged to the source of his irritation. The man quivered, much like the rat-faced one, only this time he spoke.

"We have information…"

"You should have given it to me an hour ago at the meeting," Voldemort said, and sent a stunning charm at the man's face. Treebeard fell backwards out of the room and the door slid shut again. There was silence and the screen went blank. Then, the little box lit up with wild colors and a fancy dance tune, flashing the words across the screen. Voldemort's lips moved soundlessly.

"Wheel…"

"of…

"Misfortune!"

Voldemort cackled softly to himself as the viewer scanned a room full of chalk-white faces full of fear and apprehension. They would be selected at random, and then spin a wheel that would tell them how they were going to die. This was going to make his night so much better…

"My Lord…"

"Ahhh!"

Voldemort sat forward in the chair, making it creak loudly. The wheel was already spinning, clack, clack, clack...

"What?" he shouted at the interruption.

"Umm… err… this might be important…"

"If it isn't life-threatening, I would recommend that you not interrupt me."

The door creaked on its hinge, and only a man's nose poked into the room. On the screen, the wheel slowed to a stop. The marker pointed to "Black Adder".

"Well?" he asked impatiently. "Is it?"

"Err…"

"Is it life-threatening?"

"Well, umm… no, but…"

"Reducto!"

The door slammed shut again, and Voldemort heard something crack. It could have been the nose, or the face it was attached to. Either way, it let him concentrate on the screen. He'd missed the introductions, but it didn't matter really what the witch liked to do on Saturdays, or what the wizard's place of employment was. They were going to die anyway. That was what he wanted to see. A little blood. A bit of chips and cola. A nice, relaxing evening in front of the Wiz-Telly.

Voldemort shifted in his chair, trying to get the day's disappointments to wash away, but the events niggled in his mind. The way that rat-faced man had hemmed and hawed and NOT known the information he was commanded to retrieve in time for the meeting. How dare he! Lord Voldemort had a schedule. A life outside of Death Eating and terror. This show, for instance, was the highlight of his week. The witch was sobbing now, while her husband was dangled by his toes over a pit of vipers.

There was no knock. The door burst open, and the rat-faced man was back with a bandage over one eye. "My Lord!" he panted, completely out of breath. "We have it!"

"You have one minute to explain to me this interruption, or you will be exterminated!"

Voldemort didn't have to shout. His terrifying demeanor did all of the shouting for him.

"We've got him."

Suddenly, a gangly, mess of a man was shoved before him, sliding on his knees and cowering in his presence.

Voldemort appreciated the sentiment, but the man's head was blocking his view of the wizard on the Telly being eaten alive.

"Tell me."

"They're hiding in plain sight, my Lord. I know where it is. I can take you right to them. James and Lily won't even know we're coming. I can…"

"Tell me."

It was more of a command than a request. He wasn't going to miss his show for a romp through Wizarding England, following this slimy git around. He'd know when he heard the words. That's how it would be real. In the background, cries of pain were slipping through the witch's mouth, her eyes tearing up as her head began to expand at an alarming rate. He must have already missed the spinning wheel selection and the reaction of the crowd, which he loved. There was no better sound than a collective gasp of horror.

"This better be real," he told the quivering mess in front of him.

The groveling minion spoke in run-on sentences and spilled out a truth that made the air around them crackle and splutter. A Fidelius Charm was being broken.

Voldemort hurled his can of cola at the Wiz-Telly. The screen shattered behind the traitor's head, who stared wide-eyed up at his master. He grabbed his cloak and spun on the spot. It was unfortunate that he was going to miss this episode of Wheel of Misfortune. He was quite looking forward to seeing that witch's head splatter all over the screen.

Someone was going to die for this.


	3. If You Can Dream It

If You Can Dream It

So there I was, standing at the entrance of Exhibition Ten Number Twelve at the Wizarding World's Fair. The energy in the air was indescribable. In this place, the best, newest magical devices were tried, tested, and evaluated. I had dreamed of this moment. I had the badge. I had the clipboard. I was going to introduce the Wizarding World to the next best thing.

The high contenders from yesterday were still fresh on my mind. I was possibly swayed by the broom restoring potion and the transparent floo powder because I'd made a bad habit of parking my broom too close to the fireplace most nights, and being allergic to floo dust… Personal issues aside, I was committed to delivering fair, unbiased judgments to every item on my schedule.

In the next minute, I was completely taken with the automatic coffee generator. I had looked around for the demonstrator, but all I found was a sign that said, "Free Coffee Subscription To Exhibitors" and a paragraph of fine print below it for the instructions. I searched for an actual machine or contraption of some kind, expecting my badge to attract whoever it was that had set this up. Surely, they would want to explain their invention to me for full credit.

After not spotting anyone, I decided to try it out. Seriously, I hadn't been getting much sleep, with all the excitement and hubbub around me. This was fabulous. All I had to do was hold my coffee mug in the air and Summon it. Sure, that didn't seem like a big deal, but when the steaming, frothy substance got under my nose, it was heaven. Somewhere nearby, there was a complex system of tubes and grinders connected to a network of bean suppliers from around the globe. It was genius: a coffee service for Wizards. The ingenuity was in the subscription process and a series of convoluted portkey connections. In addition to the bean selection, there were about a zillion creamer and sweetener options to choose from. As the sign said, "If You Can Dream It, You Can Drink It". This was getting high marks, no matter what.

I nearly choked on said coffee when I looked up at the next exhibitor on my list. She was wearing ridiculous goggles, her exhibitor's robes were fluorescent purple. There were these dangly things hanging from tiny piercings in her ears that I couldn't puzzle out. I know that as a wizard, I couldn't say this with any credibility, but she looked outrageous. Otherworldly. The lenses of her glasses, it was more accurate to call them goggles… were three times the size of her eyes, with pink, rhinestone studded lashes attached.

What. In. The. World.

I couldn't form words. Was this woman actually going to attempt to convince me to try on the goggles? I was about to dismiss the entire outfit and skip to the Auto-Correct Quill Two-Eighty, where a reasonable Wizard in formal black was sitting patiently at his exhibition table, but then she spoke.

"Hello, sir. Am I next?"

I was immediately taken in by her voice. It was smooth and melodious. If I closed my eyes, I could imagine something quite beautiful. Unfortunately, the garish outfit made it hard to take whatever it was that she had behind that curtained partition seriously. Looking down at my clipboard, I cleared my throat and remembered my job.

Unbiased judgment. Sure.

I didn't know what I should expect. Sunglasses? Visions into the future? The next style sensation? I'd been bombarded with these sorts of things in the pre-qualifying round. Most absurdly mundane things hadn't even made it past the prospect letter stage, so I couldn't imagine which of my colleagues had let this woman through. Still, the fact that she had the exhibit number and she was on my form meant that her invention was worth something to someone.

I looked up at her, tried very hard not to squint as the rhinestones flooded my eyes with the reflection of the lights around us, and said in my most professional tone, "Indeed. Please explain your invention."

She smiled at me. Not one of those 'I'm here to impress you' smiles, but one of those 'genuinely happy to be here' smiles. She took my hand, actually grabbed hold of it clipboard and all, and led me behind the curtain.

Inside, it was quite dark. There wasn't much to see except a lone folding chair in the middle of a square 'room' made up of four black curtains and swaths of fabric hanging tent-like over our heads. The woman led me to the chair.

"Careful," she said, as if I couldn't see it. "Please sit down while I check the settings."

As far as I knew, she was simply gazing around the dimly lit room in her crack-worthy goggles, but as soon as I began to get impatient with nothing happening, she nodded once and took off the glasses.

"We're ready."

I heard her words, but what drew my attention even more were her eyes. Even in the middle of the draped, dimly lit room, I could see that they were blue as the sky. They might even have had a light of their own. I couldn't tell, because the next thing she said was, "Look straight ahead. We are starting now."

She stepped back into a shadowed corner, and I would like to say that I heard a buzzing sound, but it was more like I felt it. The air trembled around me, making the hairs on my arm stand straight up. A cold shiver ran through my body, and I was glad I was sitting down when the flash of light completely disoriented me, and I found myself above a large grassy knoll on the edge of some gigantic mountain. The view I had looking down was spectacular. As I was lowered to the ground, some brush touched my leg, and I felt it like I was there.

Was I?

I whipped my head around, and the woman was still with me, standing in the same location, except now, her hair was blowing in a light breeze. "You can stand up now," she said in that same melodious voice. "The first time takes a bit of adjusting, like apparition, but then you get accustomed to the orientation. Do you need a vomit bag?"

That last question caught me off guard. "Err, no," I said. "I feel fine."

There was that smile again. She was simply pleased. "Very good," she said. "You may explore at your leisure."

"Where… where are we?" I asked. Everything looked so real that it was not impossible to imagine that the chair I had been sitting in was a portkey of some kind, except that there had been no spinning, and I didn't see the woman touching it, which wouldn't explain why she was here with me.

"Technically, we're still in the exhibition hall. This is a replica of the edge of the Carpathian Mountains. We are very near a nesting ground for the Ukrainian Ironbelly. I think you'll find…"

She was suddenly interrupted by a great scream from above. I looked up just in time to see a great grey shape block out the sun. Its wingspan was enormous, and it dove straight for us. A jet of flame shot out, scorching hot. I instinctively threw up my arms to shield myself from becoming a toasted crisp as the world thrown into murky darkness.

I was still standing, somewhat, though I couldn't feel the floor beneath me. The woman's hair was now rising above her head, floating, as if she was completely underwater. The pages of my clipboard began to bob with the current.

We were underwater?

I tried to speak to her, but she just smiled and pointed to a group of merpeople swimming past us. I briefly wondered why we weren't floating up to the surface, but before I could figure out how to make the sounds in the strange watery environment, the scene shifted again, and I found myself back in the drapery room. I was standing up, several feet away from the chair, and the woman's eyes sparkled with satisfaction.

She led me back out of the cloth room, and I had to squint this time to readjust my eyes. Her hair was quite dry, I noticed, as were my papers. But the water had felt so real.

"What is this?" I asked.

"It's a simulation."

"A what?"

"Oh, that's a Muggle term for a sophisticated way of playing pretend, except some of it is real. Like the heat from the fire, or the water. We could go back. I could show you how to swim in it if you like."

"No, thank you," I said, having caught the time on my watch. The 'simulation' had taken longer than it felt, and I was due at the next exhibit in just a few minutes.

Her smile faded a little, but she kept on with her explanation. "I created a scenario for each of the trials of the Triwizard Tournament. The Hedge Maze even has trolls in it. If the room is expanded, you can most likely create any Quidditch Pitch in the known world and fly a broom in it. The possibilities are endless."

For once, I wished I had a Quick-Quotes Quill. I was taking notes as fast as I could write. This whole concept took a great amount of wizarding skill and I had never seen anything like it before.

I couldn't figure it out. I knew we hadn't portkeyed to those places. The imagery was clear and vibrant, quite unlike a Pensieve. The woman had been with me the entire time, quite visible and active, so it wasn't Legilimency.

"How does it work?" I asked.

She didn't answer my question. Instead, she held out her goggles. I think the coffee in my stomach actually gurgled with disappointment. I knew there had to be a trick. This was too good to be true.

"Really. I'd like to know how you managed this much realism in your display."

The woman looked uncomfortable for the first time since I'd met her. "Put on the glasses. Please." Her blue eyes filled with worry.

I took the glasses… goggles… briefly scanned the area to make sure there wasn't anyone with a camera about, and slipped them on. My vision was suddenly filled with stars. Tiny specks, glowing all around the curtains. The woman parted the curtain slightly, and I peeked inside. The square room was filled with them. I had walked into the thick of that. In the place where the woman had stood, I saw a series of levers and pulleys and strange dials, which must have been the controls that she had talked about.

She quickly closed the curtains and held out her hand. I took that to mean that she wanted her strange glasses back, so I gave them to her.

My vision cleared, but my head was full of ideas. "Those things that I saw. The lights. What were they?"

The woman took a deep breath. "They are Nargles, sir."

I'd never heard of Nargles. But then, I'd never heard of a lot of things that people showed me here.

"You can control them?" I asked.

"In a way. Mostly, they control you. You've got to keep an open mind. People laugh, and then they see."

I was scribbling down furiously as she spoke. "I see."

"You do?"

I finished my notes, and handed her a finalist's badge. "First rate, Miss Lovegood. Well done."


	4. Iron Stomach Competition

Iron Stomach Competition

Lavender Brown was lying back on the Gryffindor common room couch, upside down, feet dangling over the head cushions. "You know you want to."

Ron's stomach grumbled. Since he'd started dating her, he'd acquired a healthy dose of skepticism. He'd missed lunch today because she'd had him doing weird things like walking around the castle going nowhere just so she could hold his hand and sitting in the damp grass while she at the lake, saying how romantic it looked.

"What's the catch?"

Lavender smiled sweetly. "No catch. The House Elves need a judge for their cooking competition. I thought you'd be perfect."

Ron's stomach expanded. House Elves, cooking to impress him? How much better could it get? "I'll do it!"

"Great!" She flipped over the end of the couch and ran a hand through her hair. "I'll let them know. They'll want you in the kitchens in one hour. Bring your appetite!"

Ron was looking forward to eating scrumptious creations and filling the void from the lost meal opportunity because of Lavender. He never missed a meal.

Except that one time, when his twin brothers had Transfigured his mashed potatoes into spiders. He'd had to leave the table. Ron hated spiders, even the gummy ones that the Train Trolley sold. Their' little hairy legs moved, and everything!

But House Elves made the most amazing things. Ron could only imagine what they'd come up with if they tried to outdo each other. His mouth watered as he made his way to the kitchens.

"Welcome, Master Weasley, esteemed judge of our competition!" The little elf greeted him at the entrance and led him through a small tunnel under the Great Hall. On the far side, beyond the four House tables, Ron was led up a steep set of steps to a small table set with golden cutlery and a stack of linen napkins. The elf excused himself and scurried away.

Soon after, a whole host of elves gathered at each table. It looked to Ron as if the elves were sorting themselves by House and preparing the tables for boiling, a frying, and baking.

Pop, pop! An assortment of potted herbs appeared next to large chopping blocks at each table. Ron sniffed the air. Rosemary, thyme, parsley… mmmm. He would give his left arm for baked chicken right now.

Suddenly, there was a commotion at the back of the hall. He looked up to see his least favorite professor surrounded by elves, and swearing at them all. Professor Snape's long nose bent over them.

"I am only here because I lost that bet with Argus Flich. I don't even LIKE pudding. Quit stepping on my boots, you pithy beasts!"

Ron cringed as Professor Snape was corralled to a podium. "What, him?" Snape sneered in Ron's general direction. "The judge, you say?"

The House Elves whispered amongst themselves and presented Professor Snape with a small cue card. The prodded him until he took it and read aloud.

"Ahem, this is the first annual House Elf Culinary Cook Off, and I, as your… Master of Ceremonies… are to announce the terms of this competition."

One of the House Elves proffered a glass of water to the professor, and he drank half the glass before setting it down again without a thank you, Ron noticed.

"There will be five courses. An appetizer, a soup, a main course, a beverage and a dessert."

At this point, Ron's stomach couldn't take the suspense. It rumbled loudly, echoing throughout the hall.

Professor Snape cleared his throat again and looked askance at Ron, who withered in his sight. "The Master of Ceremonies must choose a secret ingredient, which should be incorporated into all courses. These foods shall be presented to the judge…" he took another look at Ron, who withered even more… "who shall sample each entry and select a winning entree."

The professor fell silent, and all of the House Elves held their breaths. Then he spoke. "The secret ingredient, I choose it?"

The whole Hall nodded with murmured consent.

"Very well." Professor Snape looked straight at Ron and announced, "The secret ingredient will be spider legs!"


	5. Roar!

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p style="border: 0px; outline: 0px; font-size: 15.12px; font-family: 'Lucida Grande', 'Lucida Sans Unicode', 'GNU Unifont', Verdana, Helvetica, sans-serif; vertical-align: baseline; list-style: none; margin: 1.286em auto; padding: 0px; line-height: 1.5; color: #2a2a2a;" /p  
p style="border: 0px; outline: 0px; font-size: 15.12px; font-family: 'Lucida Grande', 'Lucida Sans Unicode', 'GNU Unifont', Verdana, Helvetica, sans-serif; vertical-align: baseline; list-style: none; margin: 1.286em auto; padding: 0px; line-height: 1.5; color: #2a2a2a;""Okay, okay," Rose said when all the cousins were gathered around the dessert table after Nana Molly's scrumptious Sunday dinner. "Who can roar the loudest?"/p  
p style="border: 0px; outline: 0px; font-size: 15.12px; font-family: 'Lucida Grande', 'Lucida Sans Unicode', 'GNU Unifont', Verdana, Helvetica, sans-serif; vertical-align: baseline; list-style: none; margin: 1.286em auto; padding: 0px; line-height: 1.5; color: #2a2a2a;"James and Freddy launched themselves into a complete raucous of growling and roaring. They were the oldest of the Weasley-Potter cousins. Freddy had gone off to Hogwarts first, and James was back for his first Christmas Break. Both were in Gryffindor and were still sporting garnet and gold colors from the train ride home./p  
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p style="border: 0px; outline: 0px; font-size: 15.12px; font-family: 'Lucida Grande', 'Lucida Sans Unicode', 'GNU Unifont', Verdana, Helvetica, sans-serif; vertical-align: baseline; list-style: none; margin: 1.286em auto; padding: 0px; line-height: 1.5; color: #2a2a2a;"James patted him on the back. "That's the spirit, Hugo! You'll need to perfect that before you get to Hogwarts."/p  
p style="border: 0px; outline: 0px; font-size: 15.12px; font-family: 'Lucida Grande', 'Lucida Sans Unicode', 'GNU Unifont', Verdana, Helvetica, sans-serif; vertical-align: baseline; list-style: none; margin: 1.286em auto; padding: 0px; line-height: 1.5; color: #2a2a2a;"Rose passed the ice cream to her little brother and let out a loud roar of her own. Little Hugo, barely nine years old, looked up at his cousin in awe. "You think I'll be in Gryffindor?"/p  
p style="border: 0px; outline: 0px; font-size: 15.12px; font-family: 'Lucida Grande', 'Lucida Sans Unicode', 'GNU Unifont', Verdana, Helvetica, sans-serif; vertical-align: baseline; list-style: none; margin: 1.286em auto; padding: 0px; line-height: 1.5; color: #2a2a2a;""We'll all be in Gryffindor," James said confidently. "Our mums and dads were in Gryffindor. It's like, hereditary or something. What about you, Albus?"/p  
p style="border: 0px; outline: 0px; font-size: 15.12px; font-family: 'Lucida Grande', 'Lucida Sans Unicode', 'GNU Unifont', Verdana, Helvetica, sans-serif; vertical-align: baseline; list-style: none; margin: 1.286em auto; padding: 0px; line-height: 1.5; color: #2a2a2a;"Albus sprang from the couch and landed in front of the apple turnovers. "ROAR! I'm going to be the biggest Gryffindor of them all!"/p  
p style="border: 0px; outline: 0px; font-size: 15.12px; font-family: 'Lucida Grande', 'Lucida Sans Unicode', 'GNU Unifont', Verdana, Helvetica, sans-serif; vertical-align: baseline; list-style: none; margin: 1.286em auto; padding: 0px; line-height: 1.5; color: #2a2a2a;"They'd been playing this game for as long as any of them could remember. Gryffindor Roar, they called it. Each year, they'd gotten louder and louder, until it was almost surreal to have a handful of the cousins actually go to Hogwarts and get sorted into Gryffindor for real./p  
p style="border: 0px; outline: 0px; font-size: 15.12px; font-family: 'Lucida Grande', 'Lucida Sans Unicode', 'GNU Unifont', Verdana, Helvetica, sans-serif; vertical-align: baseline; list-style: none; margin: 1.286em auto; padding: 0px; line-height: 1.5; color: #2a2a2a;"Albus had been so excited when the first letter from his brother had come by owl and he saw the Gryffindor crest. He'd exclaimed an exuberant "I knew it!" and shared the pride of his parents. He'd have to wait one more year before he could go to Hogwarts himself with Rose. But he was so prepared for the Sorting that he couldn't wait./p  
p style="border: 0px; outline: 0px; font-size: 15.12px; font-family: 'Lucida Grande', 'Lucida Sans Unicode', 'GNU Unifont', Verdana, Helvetica, sans-serif; vertical-align: baseline; list-style: none; margin: 1.286em auto; padding: 0px; line-height: 1.5; color: #2a2a2a;""Roar!"/p  
p style="border: 0px; outline: 0px; font-size: 15.12px; font-family: 'Lucida Grande', 'Lucida Sans Unicode', 'GNU Unifont', Verdana, Helvetica, sans-serif; vertical-align: baseline; list-style: none; margin: 1.286em auto; padding: 0px; line-height: 1.5; color: #2a2a2a;""Roar!"/p  
p style="border: 0px; outline: 0px; font-size: 15.12px; font-family: 'Lucida Grande', 'Lucida Sans Unicode', 'GNU Unifont', Verdana, Helvetica, sans-serif; vertical-align: baseline; list-style: none; margin: 1.286em auto; padding: 0px; line-height: 1.5; color: #2a2a2a;""Roar, roar roar!"/p  
p style="border: 0px; outline: 0px; font-size: 15.12px; font-family: 'Lucida Grande', 'Lucida Sans Unicode', 'GNU Unifont', Verdana, Helvetica, sans-serif; vertical-align: baseline; list-style: none; margin: 1.286em auto; padding: 0px; line-height: 1.5; color: #2a2a2a;""Quiet down, children! You're Great Aunt Muriel's trying to nap."/p  
p style="border: 0px; outline: 0px; font-size: 15.12px; font-family: 'Lucida Grande', 'Lucida Sans Unicode', 'GNU Unifont', Verdana, Helvetica, sans-serif; vertical-align: baseline; list-style: none; margin: 1.286em auto; padding: 0px; line-height: 1.5; color: #2a2a2a;"***/p  
p style="border: 0px; outline: 0px; font-size: 15.12px; font-family: 'Lucida Grande', 'Lucida Sans Unicode', 'GNU Unifont', Verdana, Helvetica, sans-serif; vertical-align: baseline; list-style: none; margin: 1.286em auto; padding: 0px; line-height: 1.5; color: #2a2a2a;"Sitting in the Great Hall in front of all those people, Albus couldn't believe that all eyes were finally on him. But the words of his father still rang in his ears from the train station that morning. At eleven, he wasn't sure anymore about the inevitability of being Sorted into the great House of Gryffindor. In fact, he'd seen a few bewildered faces get out of this very chair and wander off to a House table that they hadn't been expecting./p  
p style="border: 0px; outline: 0px; font-size: 15.12px; font-family: 'Lucida Grande', 'Lucida Sans Unicode', 'GNU Unifont', Verdana, Helvetica, sans-serif; vertical-align: baseline; list-style: none; margin: 1.286em auto; padding: 0px; line-height: 1.5; color: #2a2a2a;"Jenny Finnegan had been sorted into Hufflepuff./p  
p style="border: 0px; outline: 0px; font-size: 15.12px; font-family: 'Lucida Grande', 'Lucida Sans Unicode', 'GNU Unifont', Verdana, Helvetica, sans-serif; vertical-align: baseline; list-style: none; margin: 1.286em auto; padding: 0px; line-height: 1.5; color: #2a2a2a;"Herbert Longbottom had gone off to Ravenclaw./p  
p style="border: 0px; outline: 0px; font-size: 15.12px; font-family: 'Lucida Grande', 'Lucida Sans Unicode', 'GNU Unifont', Verdana, Helvetica, sans-serif; vertical-align: baseline; list-style: none; margin: 1.286em auto; padding: 0px; line-height: 1.5; color: #2a2a2a;"This strange kid with platinum hair had gone to Slytherin, but he'd at least seemed happy about it./p  
p style="border: 0px; outline: 0px; font-size: 15.12px; font-family: 'Lucida Grande', 'Lucida Sans Unicode', 'GNU Unifont', Verdana, Helvetica, sans-serif; vertical-align: baseline; list-style: none; margin: 1.286em auto; padding: 0px; line-height: 1.5; color: #2a2a2a;"Albus knew that there were four Houses for a reason, but his entire life, he'd been preparing for Gryffindor. Suddenly, when the prospect of making his childhood dream a reality, he was uncertain./p  
p style="border: 0px; outline: 0px; font-size: 15.12px; font-family: 'Lucida Grande', 'Lucida Sans Unicode', 'GNU Unifont', Verdana, Helvetica, sans-serif; vertical-align: baseline; list-style: none; margin: 1.286em auto; padding: 0px; line-height: 1.5; color: #2a2a2a;"Gryffindors were brave. Gryffindors were loyal. Albus was both brave AND loyal. And he was smart. And cunning, James had said so. And he was kind, like his cousin Rose was always telling him. He could fit into any House at all./p  
p style="border: 0px; outline: 0px; font-size: 15.12px; font-family: 'Lucida Grande', 'Lucida Sans Unicode', 'GNU Unifont', Verdana, Helvetica, sans-serif; vertical-align: baseline; list-style: none; margin: 1.286em auto; padding: 0px; line-height: 1.5; color: #2a2a2a;""Slytherin!" the Sorting Hat announced, knocking Albus out of his head and back to the Great Hall. There was an immediate rush of sound coming from the table with the silver and green. A great, resounding cacophony filled his ears./p  
p style="border: 0px; outline: 0px; font-size: 15.12px; font-family: 'Lucida Grande', 'Lucida Sans Unicode', 'GNU Unifont', Verdana, Helvetica, sans-serif; vertical-align: baseline; list-style: none; margin: 1.286em auto; padding: 0px; line-height: 1.5; color: #2a2a2a;"Albus smiled. He could definitely belong to a House that roared like that!/p 


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